


Lucifer's Letter

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Letters, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: Dean comes home from work to sit down and read what Sam's Mystery Mate has to say.





	Lucifer's Letter

**Author's Note:**

> As usual Beta read by my awesome Beta [YouCantKeepMeDown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCantKeepMeDown). (And Grammarly.) Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> We're closing in on the date. I have one or two things I want to add first to make one thing fall into place on the date. In the meantime I hope Luci manages to charm both you and Dean a little now that he can't drop cups on the floor by mistake. ;)

* * *

Sam's gone off to work when Dean gets home. He does his usual routines. Switches on the TV, undresses, takes a short shower, gets dressed, cooks food and eats in front of the TV. (The current episode of The Brosters airs at 8 PM. He might have been pissy about Sam waking him up to watch TV, but it had taken five minutes to be won over. The bro-guys have a clueless sort of charisma that is completely endearing.) After the show he washes the dishes and finally takes down the bottle of Jack, a glass, and the envelope. He goes to sit by the kitchen table, pours himself a drink, takes a sip (It’s the good stuff) and opens the envelope to take out the inner envelope, sniggering at the joke on Sam's expense. The gift basket had been fucking perfect if you ask Dean. Useful shit, funny shit, and edibles they don't get often. The spices are great! And while they can afford candy they don't prioritize it. Dean hadn't realized how much Sam liked gummy worms until Sam growled a serious warning, making clear he'd fight to keep them to himself. Like, _really_ fight. Dean had laughed it off to try to hide his internal ' _Oh shit!_ ’ He does _not_ want to get into a real fight with Sam. They've done that a couple of times. It's fifty-fifty who wins and _nobody_ walks away unbloodied. Sam's a gentle soul but a fearsome fighter. It takes a lot to anger him enough to choose violence but Dean's got a couple of nasty scars from his double fangs just like Sam's got a couple of pretty, permanent claw marks. (Sam doesn't think they're pretty. Ungrateful bastard.)

He opens the inner envelope and bursts out laughing when he finds yet another, smaller envelope. “I love this guy!”

' _Sam, I told you not to read. Shame on you! (Unless you're Dean in which case you can ignore this.)_ ’ the envelope inside says.

Dean takes it out and opens it. Inside there's a colourful card with adorable puppies on. It's thick like it has something inside and when he opens it a multi-paged, folded letter falls out. On the inside of the card, there is writing with the same gorgeously inked calligraphy.

“ _Dear Dean,_  
_Please don't be mad at me._  
_You can't be mad at me, because - puppies!_  
_[awkward pause]_  
_This isn’t helping my case, now is it?_  
_Very well. Allow me to expand on my apology_  
_in a letter instead.”_

Dean chuckles. “ _Man_ , this guy’s a total nerd,” he says to himself with a grin. “Who the fuck puts in awkward pauses in writing?” He envisions a skinny redhead with loads of freckles, black-framed glasses, and humour as a defence mechanism. Sam would go for someone like that, wouldn’t he? Honestly, Dean has no clue if Sam has a type. At first, he thinks Sam must be into bookish nerds, but then he remembers Sam telling him he’d been dating Brady back home and Brady is more of a jock than anything, part of the school’s track and field team. He hadn’t been a stupid guy as far as Dean remembers, but he wasn’t a nerd like Sam either.

He unfolds the pages of the letters, takes another sip of the lovely whiskey and starts to read.

_Dear Dean, I need to put something out there since it’s going to affect every interaction we’ll ever have:_

_I’m a moron._

_There, I said it. It’s possibly the only time you’ll hear me say it. (Technically you haven’t *heard* me say it, but bear with me.) If I ever get the honour of having you as my Main it will fall on you to inform me of this fact on a bi-weekly basis. In fact, this letter came into existence because my Patriarch called me a moron. ...Or rather, he withheld a sigh and gave me a disappointed look, but it amounts to the same._ ”

Dean has to stop reading to giggle. He can relate. John Winchester didn’t withhold the sigh, oh no, but when he sighed and gave you The Look™ it was worse than when he was yelling his ass off at you. There's nothing worse than disappointing dad to the degree that he doesn't even think it's worth yelling over. Luckily Dean's managed to avoid that most of the time since he presented, but as a Juvenile it happened now and then. He reads on.

_He pointed out the fact that Sam and you aren't wandering Omegas looking for a pack, but a pack of your own. That means you might think I'm trying to snipe one of your members. That's NOT my intention. I was blown away by your gorgeous brother, we got drunk and when we rolled in the hay he triggered my Rut. For the first time in my life, I forgot to use condoms. I believe that's why the mating bond formed. At no point did I plot to form a bond, nor to separate you from your pack member. On the contrary, I wish to woo the both of you and hopefully win you over as well. You see, if you count all of the Omegas in our pack the total number you’ll get is: 0_

_I’ll admit, I’m happy about the mating bond. It makes me feel all fluttery inside. It’s a strange feeling to belong to someone this way. Much more pleasant than I could ever fathom. But Sam ran out on me so I’m hoping perhaps you can tell him to run right back? No? To soon? Not convinced yet?_

_How are you enjoying my gift? I don’t know if you’re a wine guy or more into the stronger liquor so I gave you a bottle each of my own favourites. Am I trying to get you drunk so you will like me better? Who knows? I'll admit to nothing. (Hint: I am.)_

Dean laughs out loud. “It's working, buddy," he tells the letter writer, takes another sip and goes on reading.

_Your first impression of me was abysmal and I’m hoping this will be our first positive interaction._

That line makes Dean frown. Has he met this guy? Aside from Sam telling him he got mated he hasn’t been introduced to the guy. Sam had washed himself clean of him. Does he count the mating in itself like an interaction? Maybe he thinks Sam ran straight home to Dean to introduce him? Or have they met?

_I said I was a moron. I am, but that’s not all I am. The moron part I save for private conversations specifically with Omegas I like and admire. I simply open my mouth and pop my foot straight in there. Sometimes I don’t even have to speak to make a fool of myself. Most often, I suppose, it’s failure to verbally communicate with Omegas of your status that cause me to appear like an imbecile._

_So let me instead pitch you a sale. One of the aforementioned admirable Omegas once told me that if I didn't stop going for the Omegas that swoon over my sheer Alphaness I'd run into trouble when I fell for one that didn't swoon. He was right, but at the time he said it I was too bummed out about his lack of swooning to heed the advice. As you might guess my younger self lacked a measure of humility that I've since acquired. What my younger self and I both share is a frail ego. I recognize that this is a flaw. Flaw or not, it's something that has been to my advantage through life. You see, to not get my ego bruised I've put a lot of effort in to excel at whatever I do._

_I was top of my class in school. (In college I shared that spot with someone else, but I'm not going to tell you that.)_

Dean laughs again. “This guy's a hoot! I love this guy," he exclaims. He likes that the guy paints his own shortcomings first instead of trying to pretend he's perfect. Nobody likes a stuck up, arrogant Alpha. ... That's not strictly true. A certain measure of arrogance is sexy. But not if it's paired with a completely self-centered personality and an inability to see one's own faults. Obviously, Sam’s mate is fairly self-aware.

_I'm one of the best within my field as far as it's possible to compare. I'm not without competition but the biggest competitor happens to work for me. I send him on missions out of state so I can claim to be best in the city without lying. I don't lie. Not to you. Not to people I care about. I rarely lie at work if it can be avoided. I take great pride in my honesty. Although, I will lie to protect loved ones. As my Main, there is literally nothing I wouldn't do for you as long as it doesn't entail harming the other members of the pack. (*There’s fine print full of exceptions to that statement, mostly concerning pranking.)_

_I'm very pack oriented. I don't like to be separated from my pack. Unless another pack member travels with me it only takes a few days of separation for me to ache on the inside. I have to fight the urge to stay up at night to call for my Patriarch. I don't do it, because I'm a grown man capable of rational thinking. (Don't listen to my brothers when they try to refute this claim.) I know this pack dependency can be construed as both a positive and a negative. It's up to you to judge what you think of it._

“That goes into your plus side, buddy." It’s another thing Dean can relate to. Sam’s been at home a lot since his little mating mishap, wordlessly asking to be marked up, craving strengthening of their bond in every possible way. It’s put all of Dean’s worries about him having wanderlust to rest. But Dick’s absence is grating on Dean on an instinctual level. When Dick still didn’t have a scent for Dean to smell on himself he’d only had a vague pull while they were separated. But after they’d had bonding sex and Dick’s scent got unlocked to merge with Dean’s he’s constantly stressed out by Dick’s absence. They’d unwittingly signed an ancient contract of loyalty and obligation cemented by a spell of bio-compulsion. Dad had once told Dean that the only nurturing instinct stronger than the Main and Patriarch’s drive to care for their pack, is the Alpha’s drive to care for their offspring or their pack’s offspring. Rationally speaking, Dick had never agreed to be part of the pack and abide by its hierarchy. Dean knows this. But every instinct tells him that he needs to make sure Dick’s alright, to take care of him, and to steer him. To Dean, he’s a pack member who has gone off the grid. His intentions have been to nip down to Dick’s office to check in on him but Bartholomew has been running him raw. There simply hasn’t been any time for private business and Dick was gone when Dean ended his workday. He continues reading.

_I’m a prime specimen of our species. I’m tall, strong, can drop fangs almost instantly with very little discomfort. My flare turns heads and I’m well practised in hand to hand combat. I have an exceptional sense of smell and can track almost anything over great distances in all kind of environments and weather. I can sneak silently in a forest and I know my way around a sniper rifle. I haven’t had the misfortune to use these skills but my Patriarch is a war veteran and has insisted we learn and practise these skills. I believe most pack leaders that survived the war insist on the same thing. You, being from the Midwest, have probably been drilled in these skills too. But you, unlike me, would have a lot more experience in hunting and foraging._

This certainly dispels Dean’s idea of Sam’s mate as a scrawny nerd. Yes, the mentioning of Omegas swooning about his Alphaness hinted at that already, but in Dean’s mind, everybody is somebody’s type so swooning is proof of nothing. The image that’s forming in Dean’s mind of the pack described, is a thriving pack that’s preparing for survival should the worst come to pass. It makes a really good impression on him. If this pack isn’t up to Dean’s standard it’s also good to know Sam’s mate is pack-oriented in the way he describes it. That means that he’s very in touch with his bond-related instincts and they can be used against him. Dean called dad to ask how to go about sniping an Alpha if it should come to that. (If that’s what Sam wants.) Dad told him that while pack bonds generally are somewhat stronger than a mating bond―or more specifically a bond to the Main/Patriarch is stronger―the loyalty it generates can be transferred to a new pack leader. What followed was a detailed description of what only could be described as bond warfare. Ruthless and uncivilized, with little to no regard for the people involved - the polar opposite of how Dean’s been taught to treat pack members. Honestly, he’s a little abhorred that dad knows how to do shit like that. But, like dad pointed out in a grim voice, you do what you have to do for your pack. If Sam’s mate could be separated from his pack long enough while cementing Sam’s mating bond as well as bonding with Dean, the original pack bond would fade and a new one would form.

He drains the whiskey, pours himself a new one and keeps reading.

_I have a big knot. Not as in ‘above average’ big, but rather ‘Oh shit, they come that large?!’ big. Here’s to hoping you have a size kink. Yes? No? If not? Well, let me assure you I will not hurt you. I adapt to my partners to make it a pleasurable experience for both of us. I’m not presuming you’ll ever let me mount you, but in an ideal world where I in a foreseeable future would defer to you as my Main, it would be inevitable._

Dean stops reading with his heart suddenly hammering hard and fast. It’s purely coincidental. Has to be! Or…?

He puts down the letter, gets up and goes to fetch his phone that’s charging beside the bed. He opens up one message convo to stare at the latest sexting photo Gabe’s brother sent him. Gabe’s brother has a fucking _huge_ knot that certainly fits the letter writer’s description. How great is the chance that there are two Alphas in their orbit with giant knots? Could Sam’s mate be Gabe’s brother? If so that would be fucking awesome! He doesn’t dare to hope. But if that should be the case, simply being related to Gabe speaks positively for him. Gabe’s told him about his brothers all being very supportive and caring. He reads parts of his conversation with Gabe’s brother looking for similarities in expressions compared to the letter, but finds none. Gabe’s brother uses a lot of emoticons when he isn’t sexting. Primarily the purple devil emoji and the fuck you hand. Dean guesses it’d be foolish to expect someone to write the same way in a formal letter as in texts to a brother.

Dean pushes the button to darken the screen and puts the phone down, shaking himself out of it. Just because Gabe’s brother has a ‘Bucket List’-big knot doesn’t mean is the same guy. He picks up the letter again.

_Maybe I should tell you a bit about the pack I hope one day you and your brother will be part of? The first written documentation of our existence dates back to the late 16th century when my ancestors came here and merged with another small pack of Natives. Since then we’ve gone through every composition a pack can have. We were nearly wiped out by the great plague in the 1750’s, only leaving two survivors. At our greatest, we were 473 members strong with several siderunning cells. Between 1801 and 1804 we did no longer exist as the only survivor after the Talmayan War temporarily joined another pack. It didn’t last long as she was a proud and dominant individual who didn’t like how the pack was run. Instead of challenging the current Main for the position she convinced her three mates to leave to re-form our pack with her and we once again came to life as a pack. We’ve been a pack of 26 bachelor Omegas at one point and now we’re a small bachelor Alpha pack. The hierarchy in our pack currently isn’t obvious aside from who’s Patriarch. We all get a say in important decisions unless there’s a crisis and things need to be decided on the spot. Despite that, we do sometimes challenge each other’s positions with varied outcome._

_That’s a short summary. Back to the more interesting subject - me!_

_My brothers would slander me and say that I'm an attention-whore. Lies! All lies! I'm not. I simply want everyone to pay attention to me all the time. Is that really too much to ask for? To the vast majority of people I meet, it isn’t._

Dean’s back to giggling. He really likes the self-deprecating humour this guy has.

 _Additionally they'll tell you that I'm a drama queen. ...That might actually be true._

_But what they will forget to mention is that when it comes to drama we make up a whole ensemble. But this is a good thing, mind you. We’re in touch with our emotions and will show very clearly how we feel about something, then, after having put on that show we work together to solve the issue. You might say it’s an ongoing group project. (You might also say we never grew past the age of five, but again, I’m not going to tell you that.)_

Dean’s grinning so hard his cheeks are hurting. To him, the drama depicted isn’t the backstabbing, infighting kind. More like when Dean as a young Juvie had gotten a hook stuck in his hand and went crying about it to Bobby, who hadn’t been upset enough about it for Dean’s taste. (He’d calm as a rock told Dean to go fetch the first aid kit and his wire cutter and pliers.) So instead Dean went to dad, crying all over again to get the right type of empathy and consolation he was after. (If it was just getting the hook out and wound bandaged he needed, he could have done that himself, thank you very much!) Then, after that, he went to Cas for sympathy. But in front of Sammy, he’d pretended it was no big deal.

He drains his second glass without thinking, revelling in the burn and the budding buzz. Then he pours himself one more and promises himself not to drink more or he’ll be suffering for it tomorrow at work. He reads on.

_It seems I’ve forgotten to stock up on this expensive paper I’m writing on and I’m running out. I could continue writing but I’d have to use ordinary printing paper and that, frankly, isn’t impressive enough for the presentation I want to make. So let me instead conclude this letter._

_Dean Winchester, I’m in love with your brother. I have had a crush on you since the day I first picked up your scent. It’s my sincere wish to win your approval to continue being mated to Sam, and perhaps, if the stars align and you can get past the whole ‘moron’ part of my existence, to let me woo you for a mateship too. In addition to that, I also have a perverse wish to see my Father’s reaction to having a Main to defer to. He hasn’t had anyone above him in many years and I secretly believe it’ll drive him nuts to no longer be the highest ranking pack member. I hope that if we, my brothers and I, are successful in winning you over, I will get to be present the first time you overrule one of his decisions. But I’m getting ahead of myself._

_This is a letter of intent._

_Until our next interaction, I send you my love. Stay safe._

Dean puts down the letter with flutters in his belly while looking at the beautiful, elaborate cursive on the paper. He’s met this guy! Sure, he could have meant that he picked up Dean’s scent on Sam if his nose is as sensitive as he says, but he doesn’t think so. But who can it be? The only name that pops up at the mention of ‘sheer Alphaness’ is that douchenozzle Lucifer Williams. Dean rejects the thought. Sam would have told him if it was. You just don’t keep quiet about things like that. Dean’s just getting sidetracked thinking of red eyes while letting his libido do the thinking. Fuck, you’d need to be in front of a mirror if you’re going to be mounted by someone like that. 

Besides, since Sam’s mate describes himself as having ‘sheer Alphaness’ it could just be his ego talking. Dean tries to think of all the Alphas he’s had less than good interactions with but the list is so long that it’s beating a dead horse even if he narrows it down to ‘tall and strong’. But how big is the chance of them running into several bachelor Alpha packs? Two is enough of a lucky shot―the Williams pack, and Gabe’s pack―for there to be three. The more he thinks of it, the more he’s convinced it’s Gabe’s brother who got mated to Sam.

He sniggers imagining Sam’s shock when they go on the date with Gabe’s pack just to run into Sam’s mate. That’s fucking hilarious! Especially since Sam wanted to wait until after the date to introduce them. If Sam hadn’t wanted to wait with making introductions Dean would tell him straight away of his suspicions. But this is too great of a surprise to pass up on so he vows to keep quiet. Besides, he might be wrong.

He gets up, puts the whiskey back in the cupboard or he’s gonna drain it, fetches a pen, paper, lighter, salt, and a baking tray, then sits back down to write. He’s a bit peeved that his writing isn’t in the near vicinity of the gorgeous calligraphy of Sam’s mate.

“Heya, Cas!

I still miss you like crazy. I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Every time something good or bad or funny happens I just want to run home and share it with you. I told you Sammy accidentally got mated but managed to reverse the bond, right? Apparently, his mate still has the bond and no wish to get rid of it. Yesterday he sent Sam an awesome gift basket with all kinds of useful shit. A cell phone, food, candy, knife, socks with the note “Because you got cold feet” attached, an ugly-ass purple T-shirt that was nowhere to be seen when I got home tonight so I’m betting you a 100 bucks Sam’s wearing it. Heh. The big goof.

Lately I’ve felt that Sam and I are a true pack. Like, for real. Not just Omegas looking for a new pack. It should have been a no-brainer but I’ve been feeling like I still belong to dad’s pack. Yeah, I know. It comes from exactly those shameful feelings we all worried I’d develop if I stuck around after your passing. Fuck. Can we maybe not talk about that? I left before that line was crossed. Let’s pretend I never had that pull, okay? What I wanted to say is that I feel like I’m truly a Main again. I think Dick, the scentless guy that bonded with me might be part of that too but I’ve already talked about that so much now that you’re probably tired of hearing it. 

Sam’s mate sent me a bottle of wine and whiskey too. He wrote me a letter. Guy’s a real hoot. I fucking _like_ him. He’s a Packrunner like us and I think that his pack might be for us. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch to turn Mike down, but I’m convinced this guy is Gabe’s brother. In the letter he talks to me like he sees me as a Main and not just a Main prospect for his pack. I like that. It feels like he respects me. I fucking love his humour, Cas. It’s like he has this inflated ego but he keeps popping it by sticking needles into it himself. I can’t wait until I get to meet him in person!

He didn’t sign the letter with his scent which is a bummer. Guess he’ll be a mystery for a while longer, huh? But I want you to see what he wrote so you too can get a good laugh. I’m sending his letter along with this one.

Love you forever.

Xoxo, your Dean.”

Dean puts his own letter into Mystery-mate’s envelopes, then inserts the other letter as well as the card with the puppies, pours some salt in and then puts the candle on the table onto the baking tray. He lights the candle and holds the envelope to the flame, watching the flame eat away at it. He’s written many letters to Cas lately, telling him about Dick, his new job, and his worries about Sam’s wanderlust. He sometimes asks for advice too knowing Cas can’t actually answer, but more often than not he feels like Cas is present after that, laying a soothing, spiritual purr as a backdrop to Dean’s mind.

Keys rattle in the lock and Sam opens the door while Dean’s burning the letters. Sam’s eyes go to the burning envelope the moment he’s inside. “I-is that the letter?”

“Yup.”

“You’re burning it?”

Dean catches the scent of distress in Sam’s scent and looks sharply at him. “Yeah, I am. Hey, did something happen?”

“What? Oh. No. No, everything’s fine. I just.” Sam shakes his head and shrugs out of his jacket, revealing that he’s indeed wearing the purple shirt.

Dean lets the flame eat the last corner of the envelope and blows out the candle. Then he gets to his feet to walk up to Sam. Nearing him he can smell a scent that he has smelt before on an Alpha he’s passed on the street a few times in the business district. One he has a vague memory of having deep-purred at him when he was in a hurry once. One that, come to think of it, fits the description of ‘sheer Alphaness’. He tucks his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck and inhales. Sam’s been marked up but not claimed. “Is this your Mystery mate? I like him. Not as much as the bus-guy. But dude’s hot.”

Sam huffs a flustered laugh, distress in his scent going down. “No. This is Gadreel. He gave me a lift home in his car and we, uh. So get this. Backseats? Not ideal knotting places for someone as large as him and me,” he grins.

Dean sniggers. “Why, Sammy, you _nasty_. You finally figuring out the fun in playing with the big boys, huh?” he teases and gives Sam a playful slow-mo punch on the shoulder.

“I guess.” Sam’s legit blushing, smiling at the floor. Sometimes Dean forgets that Sam’s barely out of his Juvies and has a lot more hang-ups than Dean himself. He’s tempted to tease Sam about it but thinks better of it. Let his overgrown noodle of a brother explore himself and others and maybe those hang-ups will go away. 

“Good for you. Hey, so, your mate, has he told you anything about his brothers?”

“Uhm. No. He, uh, we didn’t do much talking,” Sam flusters nervously. “Why?”

Once again Dean’s tempted to bring up his theory about Gabe. But he decides not to. “Just wondering. Fucker didn’t even sign the letter. Nevermind that, you know what happened at work today? So I was…” he goes on to tell Sam about his day while he turns into the kitchen to get food for Sam. Better save the potential date-surprise for the actual date…

* * *


End file.
